


LISA: the Wicked

by pseudoactual_mahou



Category: Disgaea (Games), LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen, this is so bizarre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6255388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoactual_mahou/pseuds/pseudoactual_mahou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olathe's halfway to hell anyway; it takes very little to finish the process, as Buddy Armstrong finds out, the hard way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It’s a well-known story among exorcists, monster hunters and, of course, creatures of evil: humans who kill an overwhelming, inconceivable, totally superlative number of demons, and who become as strong as Overlords by virtue of death toll, become demons themselves. This story concerns one such mortal, who — with the blood of terrifying demons and badass humans on her hands — became a fledgling queen of demons in a dying Human World on the cusp of total hellishness…

 

—

Buddy Armstrong's head hurt like a _motherfucker_ , and she had extensive experience with exactly the kind of person who warranted the term (Yado somewhat more so, if his fevered rambling could be at all trusted) so she knew exactly what she was talking about. Or thinking about. Whatever. The air was strongly scented with something like a cleaner version of a diesel firebomb, a sort of thin but intense burning wood aroma, and the ground on which she was sprawled in her typical thrashing prone posture felt cold and hard and smooth, sort of like the very few unbroken windows she’d seen in her life. No sand, either.

She pushed herself up on addled limbs, raising a heavy head, blinking the sleep from her eyes — which was immediately a sign that something was off, because her left hadn’t worked in a while, ever since the bastard with the cat claws had torn her up. But, well, that could wait, because the smoky reddish tint to the sky, combined with the brimstone scent, suggested a fire not too far away. Buddy drew her sword and rammed it into the stone beneath her, pushing herself up as if with a walking stick, then scanned her surroundings, including the ground. Some blackish, cold stone? It was too smooth and even to be natural or human-made...

(Buddy had never seen a building that hadn’t been wrecked by carelessness or the passage of time. It was honestly pretty sad.)

And then, silhouetted against the red distance, she saw the flying figures. Indistinct, lacking the bulging ugliness of Olathian citizens, but clearly humanoid and not dissimilar to the girls in Olathe’s mags, they had wings like exaggerated versions of bats and hurtled with controlled carelessness, as if in a great wind. So, clearly, the Joy vaccine had failed to drive out the effects of her pill addiction, and her hallucinations had finally lost all coherence.

Closer by, on similar black platforms, three lithe men in ponchos and jeans herded… uh, penguins, with bat wings and pouches. “Move it, jerks,” one shouted. “You’re our tribute, so you’d better not let yourselves slow down! It’s the first day of the rest of your punishments!" 

Now that she’d noticed them, Buddy realized that, well, the only path they could take was towards her. Old, bone-deep instincts took over: she took a stance, advanced to the top of the staircase and fixed them with a stare. “Don’t come any closer."

The three poncho men, along with a few of the penguins, looked up at her. One sighted along a gun, but halfheartedly, as if he wasn’t particularly planning to fire it; another gave her a mocking salute. “Sure, buddy — if you’re alright with dying when loyal fullbloods smash your pseudo-demon skull like a particularly overripe cantaloupe, I won’t stop you from interfering.”

“How do you know my name?"

“…huh?” The second poncho man gave her a puzzled look. “I… don’t?"

“I think it might be ‘Buddy,’ dood,” said one of the penguins(?!).

“Wait, really? Humans seriously have no naming sense whatsoever.” The second poncho man sighed, then, without much in the way of warning, quick-drew, blasting a hole in the stone at Buddy’s feet, forcing her to jump to evade it; luckily, her instincts were honed enough to guide her forward instead of backwards, where she had the dubious pleasure of watching poncho guy’s casual expression thunder through confusion and indignation directly to terror. Then she slashed in a long sweep, straight for the neck — he stumbled back and managed to direct it into the upper torso instead, which opened up with surprising alacrity, like he was made of soft jelly or plant matter instead of meat. Her sword arm (which was both arms) was still functioning as it should, then. Better, even.

The other poncho guy, at this range, was clearly not quite human — his ears were pointed, and his teeth (bared in a snarl of equal terror and rage) was jagged. “EAT THIS, HON!" As he leveled his pistol at her, she pulled a sweeping charge into the crowd of penguins. The one to her left squawked ("DOOD!”), evidently from the bullet in its rubbery blue skin, then fell over, giving her an easy opportunity to vault it and rush, the tip of her sword thudding into the other poncho man’s neck and _through_ , a rush that hurled him backwards in an oddly bloodless arc. The corpse — surprising how quickly he’d died — then burst into blue mist and evaporated.

The sight confused her long enough that she didn’t realize what was happening around her until she felt a sharp impact to her head, like a blow from a curtain rod or metal pole. She turned towards it, wincing, and saw the third poncho’d not-man, his face contorted with focus, sighting along his elderly pistol. Not wasting time, she covered the ground with her head held low, ripping out a skillful stab into the side of his neck; then, in a moment of fatal inspiration, she performed a quick, circular stroke _around_ the gunman’s neck in three rapid turns, like a buzzsaw with one blade, cutting to the core. The head flicked upwards and vanished into blue ether, like the second gunner and — now that she thought of it — like the first.

Honestly, Buddy felt… good. With the exception of fights under the effects of Joy — which felt, honestly, miraculous, not counting the coming-down process — violence was exhausting at best and agonizing at worst, and left her ready to fall asleep and forget everything until the next fight. Especially when she got shot. Which had happened. And she felt just fine. _Better_ than fine. Superhuman. She gingerly examined the point where the bullet had hit — in the goddamn _head_ , no less!

There was a hard growth there, one she momentarily mistook for the end of a bullet embedded in her head, until she felt the length of it, hard and bony and a little cancerous, like Joy mutants’ scar tissue. The bullet had ricocheted off it. It was embedded in her head, seamlessly and painlessly; when she felt the other side, she had another growth of the same approximate size and in the same location. Growths with hard tips.

Not to put too fine a point on it (ahem), horns.

  
_What the shit_ , she mouthed.

“Uh, pseudo-demon lady? We’re kind of curious whether you’re our savior or if you’re, like… planning to skin us, dood."

Buddy, operating mostly on autopilot, turned to the assembly of misshapen birds, who were watching her with… well, no expressions. They didn’t have mouths or facial features, as such. Nevertheless, she got a sense of generalized wariness and vague hope, commingled. “I… don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t know what you creatures are, or how birds can talk, or what happened to the desert. But I won’t hurt you unless you try anything."

The frontmost bird sighed and… “grinned?” Something similar, anyway. “That's as good as Prinnies' deals with strong demons get most of the time.” "Rest assured, dood — we won’t try anything unless you’re totally incapable of even lifting a knife,” another piped in. “What I wanna know is, who are you, dood?”

“It doesn’t matt—“ she started, but one of the birds shoved a few others out of the way — a yellow one, unlike the rest, all a rubbery blue — and thrust a flipper towards the sky. “I’ve got a hot tip for all you doods — that’s the legendary last girl from this Human World, Buddy Armstrong!” It… god, these things had incomprehensible expressions. “Her legend even rivals that of the Hint Lord, dood.”

“Shut up with all the Hint Lord stuff, man!” The former lead bird shoved the newcomer out of the way. “Dood, it’s supremely uncool, even for a Prinny!”

The yellow bird scoffed, or bird-equivalent. “You’ve got no idea what kind of dood you’re dealing with, huh? Back when I was alive, I was beloved by millions of fans, the scourge of warlords and advisor to martial arts badasses! The dood envied by all doods under the sun!”

The lead bird, incensed, reached into its pouch and drew a pair of serrated hunting knives, one in each oddly prehensile flipper. “You’re not even using ‘dood’ right, dood! It’s supposed to be an interjection!!” Buddy, who’d zoned out a little, rushed back into awareness and entered a stance, aiming her sword, every nerve on edge, whereupon the lead bird shrieked “DOOOOOOD!" and all the rest of the blue ones, scattered with an almost impressive organization. Highly trained cowards, apparently. Only the braggart yellow bird remained behind.

“What do you want?"

The yellow bird nodded its head sagely, and she noticed a small head of thin black hair, sort of resembling a wig. “Well, you’re Buddy _Armstrong_ , right? Brad was your dad, dood?"

She stiffened. “…so what?"

“Well, you may not know this, on account of me meeting a tragic end prior to us ever meeting, but I was your dad’s best dood, bud.” The bird shrugged. “Of course, that’s back when I was human."

“You were human?"

“And so were you, dood. Past-tense. But that’s not a big deal right now.” The yellow bird put its flippers on its hips, its expression of intense focus both vaguely cute and vaguely sad. “See, I gave your dad hints, tutorials and worldly wisdom through thick and thin, and I only stopped once it looked like he’d gone off the deep end, dood. And I think he’d want me to do the same for you. Except he’d probably kill more doods in the process."

Buddy hefted her sword, acutely aware of the bird’s blank-eyed stare. “Give me a good reason not to cut you down right now, bird. How do I know you’re not just another pervert trying to control me?"

Although the bird-man shrugged, she noticed sweat on its (his?) brow. “Well, uh… I sprained my groin a long time ago, and it looks like that sprain went soul-deep, dood. My tightest knuckle drops probably wouldn’t even phase a ‘pseudo-demon’ like you."

“…explain."

“Oh, man, dood — you just put me in my _element_. See…”

Over the next half-hour or so, Buddy listened to the bird deliver a surprisingly concise summary of the situation: this was Olathe, and the world was in the process of ending even more than it already had. Demons had appeared into the world, ageless monsters who spent their time shepherding the souls of the fallen into “penguin suits” to create “servants” known as Prinnies. (Buddy learned what a penguin was, too.) The Prinnies that the poncho demons had been herding were to be offered up as vassals and menial workers to some kind of demonic warlord, an “Overlord” soon to be coronated in the ruins of what once was Rando Land.

“Far as I know, doods like you who got into the Joy — bad habit for a kid, by the way — and didn’t eat the big one by the time the demons arrived turned into ‘pseudo-demons,’ whatever that means.” The Prinny eyed her horns — still a strange thought — and Buddy reached up to rub them reflexively. “Might explain why you’re such a strong dood, dood."

“I earned my strength."

“Sure, sure."

“So they’re coronating a new warlord?” Buddy felt herself smile. Honestly _smile_. Were her teeth pointed? Did she care? “In Rando Land?"

“Sure, dood. I’d stay away if I were you — not everyone’s as amazing as the Hintster, and even I couldn’t dance hot enough to out-burn those demon-types!"

“I don’t get you.” Buddy drew her sword and looked out at the horizon — the sky by which she’d navigated for a scant few weeks, dyed red by the fires of hell. She felt alive again. “You can’t fight, right? Don’t follow me, then. I’m going to show them who’s ‘Overlord’ around here."

“Hold it, dood.” She gripped her sword handle, more out of a sense of obligation than anything, and turned to face the Prinny, whose flipper was out in a “hold it” kind of gesture, albeit one marred by its rubber-bird anatomy. “The Hintster isn’t abandoning an Armstrong again. I know more than you about this world — and if you don’t let me come along as an advisor, I’ll be your shadow, dood! A ninja cheerleader, shouting your name for all the demon world to hear!"

“Erk.” The prospect wasn’t appealing.

“Don’t make me, dood! No Hint Lord should have to hide his light under a bushel!!!”

“…just don’t try to stop me, Prinny."

“Call me the Hint Lord, dood."

“No."

“‘Hintz,’ then. It’s my real name."

“…fine."

\--

**Buddy Armstrong - Wasteland Queen**

Olathe's famous "Last Girl," as a human she became #1 in the world before succumbing to Joy. Now, she's a ruthless pseudo-demon with designs on the throne.

Evility:  **The Big Girl Cometh**

When attacking the highest-level unit on the map, increase damage by 30%.

Learned Skills:

[!!] Blade Rush (Sword) -- A move all aspiring Overlords learn to get stronger.

[!!] Reciprocating Beheading (Unique) -- Turns the throat into so much particularly sinewy jerky.

 

**Prinny "Hintz" - Hint Lord**

A former cheerleader who became a Prinny for his crimes as a human. Despite his lowly status, he's still pretty brash. Loves to teach others; thus, the "Hint Lord."

Evility:  **Coolest Dude**

Unit and adjacent allies recover 10% HP and 5% SP per turn.


	2. Chapter 1: Rando Land Gate

The clearing formerly belonging to the gunner demons was sparse by demon standards, which is to say that it was bizarrely lavish to Buddy — a large silo with wall-to-wall carpeting, a number of white-sheeted beds and IV bags, sandy tiles and hedges of off-purple braziers. A plume of smokeless blue fire emerged from a pit in the center of the chamber. The walls were marked by similar aberrant fires all across the spectrum, forming various arcane sigils. A variety of demons raised their heads as she entered, Hintz marching in step just behind, then bowed and returned to producing a low murmur.

“The Sugar Gang had a sweet setup, Buddy,” said Hintz as she took it in. “Dimension Guide — teleports doods all across the universe. Nurse — fixes up wounds. Demon bodies are easy to fix up with just bandages and sugar, so…” His voice trailed off, or possibly she began to ignore it, because the Nurse was a blonde in a split dress like a black flower, slender and curved as the girls in mags, and he — no, she — was giving Buddy an appraising look as she approached. “You're a pseudo-demon, aren’t you, dear? And so young…” The nurse fluffed up her hair and approached Buddy, eyes still closed. “Come to pay your respects to the Sugar Boys?"

“The Sugar Gang leadership's dead and mana, dood. And Buddy here took them down."

“Ah.” The Nurse's expression didn’t shift a fraction. “In that case, the Netherworld Hospital is proud to offer its services, my lady.”

“You’re a woman, yes?"

As the Nurse's eyes were shut (or at least slitted), she couldn’t blink in surprise, but she could carry out a pretty passable imitation of such a twitch. “…erm, yes?"

“I’ve never met any women.” Buddy scanned her up and down. “No human women, at least. I was supposed to be the last one.” There was an ethereal quality to the few demons she’d seen so far, a sort of rubbery insubstantiality that removed the creases from their flesh and smoothed out muscle tone. They were like the girls in mags — flesh without flesh. Honestly, a little bit disappointing.

“Well, my lady, I am, uh… I am glad to be the first?”

“What’s the Netherworld Hospital?"

“Ah, that subject aside, then. We at the Netherworld Hospital can provide healing from the most grievous wounds at proportional HL costs…"

“HL’s similar to mags, dood, but not pornography.” The Nurse gave Hintz a look of quiet horror. “Human Worlds can get real fucked-up, friend.”

From there, it was a procession of demons — a weapons/candy chain named “Rosenqueen’s,” a Salvation Ranger knockoff operator for the Dimension Gate, a insouciant-looking cowboy-ish demon and a few representatives from “Dark Assembly Services,” who claimed to be setting up some kind of “dark court” in a process that involved a number of syringes and a blue, powdery smoke. All of them kowtowed to her fairly quickly, in an almost dignified way, as if they were used to surrendering to power. It was a little refreshing, honestly. The Rosenqueen’s even offered her a new sword to replace her old, rust-ridden machete, and some black jeans and clean bandages for her post-apocalypse uniform. (She didn’t replace her poncho, though, despite a heavy cloth “Ghoul Poncho,” a steal at 68 HL.)

Alright. Clean clothes — her first in years — new bandages, horns polished, scar eye radiant with heat and power. “Where’s the Overlord inauguration?”

“Uh, Rando Land’s the big local candidate, but hot tip: I wouldn’t just barge in on whatever dood’s the candidate. This is a new Netherworld, which means everyone with even a hint of power is gonna be falling over themselves to be Overlord — and we’ve got only your sword and two knives that, strong and cool as I am, I can’t use.” Hintz shrugged, in a way that might’ve been cute if he didn’t also look middle-aged. "You want to survive in this nightmare, gotta recruit some muscle, dood.”

“I don't need strangers bogging me down."

“I’ve got a solution for that, dood.” At that, the cowboy perked up and hurdled a wall of weapons, saluting rakishly in an irritating sort of way. “Reckon I can exp—"

“See, this dood’s a ‘Demon Recruiter.’ Demons build up mana from combat, like bloodstains on the soul, and they can funnel it into vessels to call up 'generic demons’ — totally loyal doods who’ll follow you into hell.”

Hintz waggled an authoritative flipper at the cowboy, who seemed faintly put out by being preempted in his tutorial. “More or less, yeah.” He offered a hand. “Ready to summon some servants, buddy? Ah, sorry, milady…?”

“Buddy.”

“…seriously?”

The process of summoning was… hazy, and felt not entirely dissimilar to being pressure-washed with ice water and blood, simultaneously. The results were “Benji Skull,” a muscular hulk with a red headband, “Tiffany Stilton,” a red-haired “witch” with a surly expression, and “Life O’Houlihan,” a nurse. They all seemed content with the weapons (logging axe, wooden staff) and cursory armor (bandanas) she handed over, and the roles in which Hintz drilled them with great enthusiasm (slaughter, throwing fire, battlefield medicine); not one of them said a word to her besides “yes."

The feeling of compliance wasn’t quite as intoxicating as asserting superiority through violence, but it was close, a slow, luxurious sensation. She stepped through the Dimension Gate and onto the planes of Rando Land with a smile of anticipation, Hintz in tow, and in a swing she bisected a warrior woman bedecked in belts. The cut wasn’t as effective as before — the demon’s blue slash bonded back together in a sudden rush — but another two left her a cloud of mana particulate that soaked into Buddy’s skin and left a faint rush of elation.

She’d never smiled at violence before, but she could feel her canines bare and bright as she surveyed the battlefield, numerous warriors (she recognized them as Valkyries now, generics borne of mana with a specialty in one-on-one combat and spear use) watching her, suddenly wary. Then, as one, they charged, and the world reduced itself to a tiny red pinpoint for a precious second while she charged in towards the nearest throat. She felt the faint thunk of resistance followed by the hiss of escaping mana, then a dull pain as spear handles thudded into her neck and stomach, driving her back a few steps. “Missed my horns,” she hissed.

The nearer Valkyrie gave her a look, took a running jump and threw her spear towards Buddy, who raised her sword to deflect it but managed to catch it in the hand instead. It hurt, but not as much as the lightning that struck the spear a few seconds later, which left her staggering and dazed as the Valkyrie yanked it out, largely unhindered. The other swung for her, but then a “HRAGH” echoed from the nowhere behind her and Benji Skull slammed an axe into the ground and produced an honest-to-god quake that lifted the Valkyrie up long enough for Buddy to jam her sword into her throat and pull the same buzzsaw-decapitation trick. The other Valkyrie burst into flame as she chopped, evaporating into ash, and she felt… just fantastic about it, which actually (on review) was her hand and electrical burns evaporating off of her like green gas. The few remaining began hurling spears at her — and Benji Skull, whose forehead proved surprisingly durable — so she took a moment to fall back behind her meat, Life hurling green healing light at Benji, Tiffany chanting a verse that sounded like a soprano volcano, and Hintz… gesturing with a flipper?

Buddy was briefly captivated by the gesture. Was it… was it a signal for attack? Sign language? No, the bending, the boneless force of it — was it a thumbs up? Was it a thumbs up enacted by a person entirely devoid of thumbs? The sincerity of the gesture filled her with a boiling psychic cocktail of revulsion and... _determination_. She felt her horns coiling up and writhing, full of electrical fury. “You got this, dood!”

Sure as _shit_ she did.

Ten minutes later, the Valkyries were mana on her skin and in her ontological bloodstream, and Benji Skull was saluting and screaming while the other two generics danced in circles cheering. Hintz smiled and clapped her on the back with one grotesque flipper, so of course she kicked his peg legs out from under him and gave him a look suffused with hostility.

“Aw, ouch?!"

“Don’t touch me, Hintz."

"Whatever floats your boat, dood.”

—

**Prinny “Hintz"**  
New Skill:  
[!!] **Hype Flipper** — A thumbs-up that transcends the limits of Prinny physiology. Restores HP and increases ATK.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I chose this crossover. Please don't ask for an explanation.


End file.
